


Witcher's Heat

by phai6688



Series: Witcher's Heat [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Choking, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mention of noncon, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rough Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phai6688/pseuds/phai6688
Summary: Did you know that Witchers go through some type of sexual frenzy, called a heat? Jaskier didn't either but he would have appreciated the heads-up.-"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispered. "Right now, I'm more animal than man. Especially, when you smell as you do."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher's Heat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831165
Comments: 154
Kudos: 1713





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smutty fanfic! I hope you enjoy it, and I apologize for if the smut is awkward. Constructive criticism, reviews, and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Of course, I don't own The Witcher Series (book, game, or TV show), and I'm not affiliated with them in anyway.

For the past few days, Jaskier noticed a change in Geralt's behavior. Geralt was a naturally taciturn travel companion, Jaskier had to fill the silence between them with songs, stories, or inane chatter. He didn't mind, he liked to talk and Geralt seemed to like to listen. Geralt would "hmm" and grunt or make other sophisticated noises to indicate that he was following along with Jaskier's prattle.

Lately, Geralt seemed... tense. There was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that usually didn't exist when it was just the two of them in the wild. That level of tension was reserved for the villagers and other strangers because they weren't always certain of the reception they would receive once the people realized Geralt was a Witcher.

And if Geralt was not talkative before, he was practically mute now. He hadn't said a word to Jaskier, no matter how much the Bard talked or how many questions he asked. He only stared ahead and kept walking. Oh, that was the other thing. He refused to ride Roach. The horse practically looked sullen as she trotted along slowly next to her master.

"Geralt, for the last time, what is going on with you?" Jaskier asked from the other side of Roach.

He was never afraid of Geralt, it wasn't in his nature to be afraid for long, but there was a tension in his broad shoulders and muscular back that was alarming. So, Jaskier restrained himself from physically stopping Geralt and demanding answers. Not that he could stop him.

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'm going to sing Toss a Coin. Again. For the tenth time," Jaskier took a deep breath and opened his mouth to belt out the words, nice and loud. Usually, after two repeats of the song, Geralt was ready to do whatever he wanted, but the Witcher was being stubborn today. Well, so could Jaskier.

After the eleventh rendition of the song, Jaskier yawned. He looked over at his tall, silver haired companion, still in his stony sulk, and glanced over at Roach and her empty saddle. Geralt only let Jaskier ride Roach when he was hurt or they were in trouble. He hated sharing the horse with anyone.

Jaskier yawned loudly and stretched. He landed one of his arms on the horse's saddle and glanced at Geralt. Still quiet and sulking. Probably upset that one of his swords wasn't sharp enough.

The Bard whispered lowly to the horse, "Since your master is in a mood, I'm going to ride you. Don't be mad, alright?" She neighed her consent, and Jaskier petted her on the neck.

He swung himself over the saddle and sat down. He waited for Geralt to protest and say, "Get off Roach, Bard," in that cold, rough tone of his that made Jaskier shiver a little. The Witcher didn't say anything but adjusted his hold on Roach to accommodate Jaskier's leg.

He basked in the feeling of riding Roach, and having Geralt stay on foot, for a few minutes before he got bored and sleepy. There was only so much he could do to entertain himself and Roach was walking so slowly and gently. He yawned and fell forward onto the horse, his arms around her neck.

He was almost asleep when he felt a large, strong hand on his thigh. High up on his thigh. The hand slid down to his knee, before giving him a gentle squeeze, and moving away. Jaskier sat up immediately.

"Geralt, did you just rub my leg?" He asked the Witcher, who stared straight ahead.

He thought that Geralt was going to ignore him again, but he nodded.

"So, you are finally communicating with me! Hallelujah! Where are we going, Geralt? Why weren't you talking to me? Did you like the way I sung Toss a Coin the last time? I think I added more drama and oomph to some key lines. I might sing it like that in the next place. Geralt, are you going to talk to me?" Jaskier only got a firm shake of the head in reply. He sighed. "Well, at least you're listening. I thought you were sick or something."

He hummed a few tunes for the next hour as they slowly plodded along to their destination. Geralt stopped at the well-traveled entrance of a humble village.

"Jaskier," the first word Geralt said in two days! Jaskier almost threw himself off the horse in shock.

"Geralt! You're talking, you can talk! Of course, you can talk, but you weren't talking before, so I worried that you were getting sick and lost your voice in some Witcher-esque illness. Did you like-"

"Jaskier!" Geralt growled. It was a sound that Jaskier had never heard from a man before, so low and throaty and animalistic. It shut Jaskier right up. "Come here," Geralt held out a hand, surprising the Bard with the gallant gesture. Jaskier took it and swung himself off the horse. He gasped when Geralt crowded him against Roach and laid a hot hand on his waist.

In a rough voice, filled with a strange tension, Geralt commanded, "Go into town and request some type of room, maybe a cabin, far away from anyone else. A clean room, the cleanest room, they have that is very isolated. See if you can get some meals and a bath, too. But I don't want to be disturbed." As he spoke, Geralt massaged the fleshy area around his waist in such a distracting fashion, but Jaskier remembered everything.

The Witcher pulled Jaskier to him with one arm and used the other to rifle through the bag attached to Roach's saddle. Jaskier felt like he should move away, Geralt rarely let people into his personal space, but his arm was so hard and firm across his back. He leaned into Geralt, just a little, enough that if Geralt came to his senses Jaskier could laugh it off. Geralt kept looking for something in his bag, so Jaskier slowly raised his arms and put his hands around the other man's rock-hard waist.

"Here," Geralt pressed his money bag into the Bard's chest. He had to remove one of his hands from their comfortable position to take it.

"Geralt, what-"

"I'll explain later. I just need-" Geralt closed his eyes and leaned his head against Jaskier's neck. "You smell so good," he whispered against the fluttering heartbeat.

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in surprise. First, that Geralt would act so wantonly with another man, which the Bard had never seen Geralt do, and that man was him! Also, this must have been the most the Witcher had said to Jaskier in one setting in all the years he had known him. Plus, he hadn't bathed in a few days. How could he smell good to anyone, especially to someone with a sensitive nose like Geralt's?

He jiggled the moneybag. "This is all your money, Geralt. Are you sure?"

At this point, Geralt had buried his face against Jaskier's neck. He nodded stiffly. With a show of effort, Geralt pushed himself off of Jaskier and clenched his fists at his side. "Go, I'll be here, waiting for you."

Feeling cold, the Bard hugged his doublet tighter around himself and ran down the worn road towards the village.

Jaskier had to go to two innkeepers to find what he was looking for.

"I c'n give you our attic. T'is 'ery nice 'n clean 'n big," the innkeeper said with a proud smile.

"Do you have anything a little more isolated and alone, ma'am?" Jaskier grinned charmingly. "I'm here with my wife, you see, we're consummating our marriage vows. She's a little shy about that stuff." He spotted the skeptical look on the older woman's face. "She used to be nun," Jaskier nodded when surprise and reluctant understanding changed the innkeeper's expression.

"I 'ave a nice, little cottage. Not ready but I c'n send one of my gals to clean it up a bit."

"That sounds perfect! Thank you so much! How much with the meals and baths?"

"Cottage 'as it's own well 'n fireplace. I'll send my gals up with your meals."

The lady threw out out a sum, and Jaskier laid a hand over his heart dramatically. "My good lady, I married a nun, not a duchess! Surely, you could give us a fairer price. Think of the happiness and comfort you'll give my blushing bride! She left the convent for me, you know, I can't disappoint her."

The innkeeper crossed her arms over her ample bosom but lowered the price. With some more flattery and cajoling, Jaskier managed to get a free bottle of wine thrown into the 'honeymoon suite.' He memorized the directions to the place and left.

Jaskier ran back to Geralt and Roach. Geralt stood in the same position, hands clenched at his sides, as he stared down the road to the village.

"I got us a cottage!" Jaskier exclaimed as he threw himself into Geralt's arms. He didn't look particularly welcoming, but the man immediately wrapped his arms around his body and sighed, letting some of the tension drain from his body.

Jaskier felt so safe in those strong arms, but he could still feel that Geralt was uncomfortable and agitated about something. He pulled back and said, "Let's go, my friend."

Jaskier boldly took Geralt's hand and grabbed Roach's reins with the other, then led them towards the cottage. In less than hour, they reached the designated spot. Jaskier had never been so glad for his good sense of direction. It wasn't much too look at from the outside, it was a wooden little house with a small well and an outhouse in the back. They tied up Roach and made sure she was comfortable before venturing inside.

It was a very plain one room cottage- there was a small kitchen area with a rough stove, one large, sturdy bed, a kindled fireplace with an ugly, old couch in front of it, and a small section of the room devoted to a nice looking tub filled with now lukewarm water. Next to the tub was a refreshing looking bucket of water. Jaskier grinned when he saw the large bottle of wine neatly placed on the bed.

Of all the things that Jaskier thought that would happen when they arrived at the cottage, cleaning wasn't anywhere on the list.

Yet, this was the first thing Geralt did. He took a rag, rubbed it with water and some of their soap, and went around the small room rubbing down certain areas. He ignored the dusty floor and strangely colored stains on the walls and furniture, but thoroughly cleaned the wine bottle. He wiped the handle of the bucket. Rubbed a corner of the stove. Thoroughly washed the door handle and the small table near the bed.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the cottage and stared for several minutes. "Geralt, what in the world are you doing?"

"I don't want their scents in this room. Just us," was all the silver-haired man said as he moved around the space with single minded purpose.

Abruptly, he stopped and flung the rag in a corner of the cottage.

"That's better," Geralt's amber eyes settled on Jaskier's form, causing the man to straighten up from where he was leaning against the worn out couch.

"What's going on?"

A strange heat entered the Witcher's gaze. "Did you know that Witchers can go into heat?"

Jaskier chuckled, "Like cats and dogs?"

"Similar but more dangerous," Geralt's voice reached that low, throaty tone that caused his heart to beat a little faster.

The Bard shook his head and tried to focus on the matter at hand, for once in his life. He felt that what was happening here was important. He frowned and thought about his depressingly short list of things he knew about Witchers... and he'd traveled with one for years. He knew about the mutations, some parts of the intense training, and the potions, but very little else. Geralt rarely talked about other Witchers or about his past, except for his mentor/surrogate father.

"Witchers have heightened senses and abilities, but it comes at a cost." As he spoke, Geralt slowly approached Jaskier. "Once every decade or so, a Witcher goes into a type of frenzy. It lasts for two days. We lose our ability to rationalize and think logically. Everything bothers us during that time-- every scent that's not our own, the sound of too many people, and we have a heightened awareness of everything. It's like my skin can feel the air around me." Belying his words, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and rubbed his head against the shorter man's neck. Ironically, very much like a large, white haired cat.

Jaskier chuckled but kept his arms to the side, unsure of what would bother his friend. "So, I guess I'm not bothering you right now? Oh God, all that singing that I did on the way here! And does my talking to you right now bother you? Well, more than usual because-" The Bard stopped when the Witcher nuzzled his cheek.

"No, you don't bother me," his chuckle was so intimate and inviting. "You feel warm, soft, and safe. You make it all better. And you smell so good. But I need to put my scent on you, Jaskier, let me do that, alright?" Geralt's hands went down to his hips and his lips drifted over his jaw and neck.

Oh fuck! Jaskier bit his lip and nodded, he tried to control his eagerness and play it aloof, but he'd wanted Geralt for so long. Ever since he saw him in that tavern, a hot, mysterious man, sitting alone and staring into his cup. As if he were waiting for Jaskier to brighten his day.

He gasped when Geralt sucked hard on a spot high on his neck. He could feel each pull of his skin all the way down to his cock, which was stirring to full mast. Wow, he had no idea that his neck was so- he lost his train of thought when Geralt began to worry the skin with his sharp canines, then sucked it again. The smaller man gripped Geralt's biceps and leaned into him, closing his eyes. They flew back open when the silver haired man pushed him onto the sofa. Jaskier was briefly dazed by the change, but he grinned wickedly up at the panting Witcher.

"Geralt, I didn't know you had it in you," then proceeded to undo his pants.

Instead of following him and taking off his own clothes, Geralt turned and stomped to the door. Jaskier blinked in confusion. Maybe hickeys didn't equal sex in Witcher-speak?

"I've never- Witchers can share their heats with others, Jaskier," Geralt braced his fists against the door and struggled to control his breathing. "It's rare because it requires a lot of trust and affection between the two. That's hard for a Witcher to find."

Oh right, they were still talking about this Witcher phenomenon. Jaskier took a deep breath and tried to control his own erratic heartbeat. "You want to share it with me, right?"

"Yes!" The word bursted out of Geralt's mouth with an intensity that surprised them both. The Bard couldn't help but melt a little at the desperation that tinged his Witcher's voice. "I want to but it's not an easy thing, Jaskier. The heat, it's agonizing. I've never shared it with anyone."

"What's involved in this heat?" Jaskier did up his pants again, seeing that this conversation was going to be longer than he'd anticipated.

"Sex, lots of it," Geralt said bluntly. The Bard looked down at his crotch again and wondered if he should just get naked and save himself the hassle later. But Geralt was still clothed, and he was still speaking. He forced himself to concentrate. "I've only heard of one Witcher who was able to share it with a human. It ended badly. She tried to leave in the middle of it, the Witcher wouldn't let her and ended up forcing himself on her several times. She committed suicide afterwards." Geralt turned around, and Jaskier wished he could take away the sorrow in his beautiful golden eyes.

"And what happened to the Witcher?"

Geralt shrugged. "What usually happens to us. He made a mistake while hunting a monster and died."

"What a tragedy." He hated to think of his Witcher dying on some mundane hunt and life continuing as it always did for everyone else.

"Leave Jaskier," Geralt opened the door and stared at the floor, his jaw clenched tight.

"Wait, what? What's going to happen to you?" Jaskier dug his fingers into the thread bare cushions, in case Geralt tried to drag him out. He'd done it before and Jaskier proved he was the more stubborn one out of the two.

"This was a mistake," he sighed. "I've done this before, by myself, and I survived. I can't risk hurting you. Now go, I can control myself for a few more hours. I won't be able to follow you if you get on Roach and ride hard for an hour."

"No!" Jaskier stood up, "I'm not going to leave you hurt and vulnerable in the middle of nowhere when I can help. When I want to help. Please Geralt."

He slammed the door shut and stalked slowly towards Jaskier. The Bard couldn't help but stumble onto the couch again as he watched the older man move towards him like a hunter with his prey.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispered. "Right now, I'm more animal than man. Especially, when you smell as you do."

"Geralt please," Jaskier begged and unconsciously opened himself up to the Witcher as the other drew closer to him. He widened his legs, allowing Geralt to step between his spread knees, and tiled his head to the side in a show of surrender, Geralt's mark visible.

He made a noise of approval and bent down to inhale Jaskier's scent from the claimed side of his neck. "You smell like you want me to breed you."

"Fuck!" Jaskier was so hard that he thought his cock would bust through his pants.

"Last chance, Jaskier, leave now or you're going to be impaled on my cock for the next two days."

Instead of answering, the Bard pulled his Witcher down by the back of his neck and kissed him passionately on the lips. Geralt opened his mouth to the probing tongue, and they dueled for a few seconds. Some animal instinct inside of Jaskier warned him not to challenge the other man in anyway, so relaxed his muscles and let him dominate the kiss.

"Soon, I won't be able to think or speak rationally, Jaskier," Geralt whispered against his swollen lips. "Please, tell me that I won't hurt you. I want you so much, you make everything better, but I don't want to hurt you. Don't let me hurt you," he whispered these words as he kissed the Bard's neck, jaw, and cheeks.

At that moment, Jaskier felt the first tendril of apprehension about the days to come with this heat. He didn't fear for himself, but for Geralt. Despite his outward appearance and reserved behavior, the Witcher was a gentle soul and had a tender heart. It would crush him if he accidentally hurt Jaskier because of the condition of his nature. He was determined to led both of them out of this, alive and well (and sated).

"You're not going to hurt me, I promise." The Bard hoped those words will be the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times are here! Let me know what you think. These are my first explicit smut scenes, so I'm blushing quite a bit at the thought of people reading this, lol!
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful responses to this fanfiction! I appreciate all of you who wrote reviews and/or sent kudos!

Geralt managed to pull himself off Jaskier and told him to get ready.

Jaskier took advantage of the now cold bath and cleaned himself thoroughly with their unscented bar of soap, all the while ignoring Geralt's heated gaze. While drying himself with a worn towel by the fireplace, he was startled when his Witcher started growling, low and menacingly, at the door. The Bard felt the goosebumps rise on his cooled flesh and shivered. 

"There's a monster in there!" He heard a girlish shriek, then footsteps running away. 

Jaskier sighed. He wouldn't be surprised if they didn't get anymore meals. Good thing they had some emergency snacks.

He wrapped the towel around himself and went to open the door. A steel hand clamped down on his outstretched wrist. 

"Geralt?" His eyes had turned almost black.

"Where.Are.You.Going?" Geralt forced out each word as if it cost him an obscene effort to speak. 

Jaskier knew that the trajectory of this heat will mostly depend on how he handled situations like this one. He didn't want to end up like the girl in Geralt's story, nor have Geralt end up like the Witcher. 

He followed his instincts, which have served him well so far, and forced himself relax his whole body and turned his gaze away. It was kind of like dealing with a wild, feral creature- you didn't want to challenge it but acknowledge it's superior strength and hope to move on, or in Jaskier's case, eat then get fucked. 

"Geralt, it's food, just food that the girl brought for us. No one's coming in here, and I'm not leaving," Jaskier had to repeat this again in an even tone until Geralt relaxed his grip and took one step back. Slowly, he went to the door and opened it far enough for him to grab the basket and bring it back into the cottage. Geralt firmly closed the door and dragged the couch against it in an impressive show of strength. 

"Wow," the Bard licked his lips and knew that soon he would be able to fulfill a hunger that the best foods could not. "Geralt." He waited for the now amber hues to settle on him. "Why don't you take a bath while I eat?" He nodded to the tub. 

Geralt got the message and went to clean himself as well. Jaskier ate quickly, not knowing how long he had before the fuckfest started. It was a simple yet hearty meal with bread, some cold, cured meats, cheese, and milk. He also took liberal swings of the wine. When finished, he rummaged in his sack for his small jar of oil. He used it to keep his face and hands soft, but today it would get a completely different use. 

He let the towel fall and stared at his opened bottle of oil. He hadn't actually done this before to himself. The few times he had sex with men, his partner had taken care of the prep work. But something told him that Geralt wouldn't have the presence of mind to do that. He heard the water splashing behind him and knew he had to hurry. He coated two fingers in the oil and reached behind to press them into his hole. It hurt a little when he went knuckle deep, but Geralt's cock was much larger than his two fingers. Wanting to be safer than sorry, Jaskier scooped up more oil and repeated the process again. This time it was easier for his fingers to sink in more deeply.

He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the discarded towel. He heard a noise and turned to see a dripping wet Geralt, his erection hard and straining, standing behind him. Fuck, it was huge. 

Geralt grabbed him by his short hair and devoured his lips. He pressed his naked body against the Bard's and palmed his ass with his two rough hands. Jaskier fumbled behind him for the jar and took as much as he could with one hand. Then, he gently fisted Geralt's impressive erection, rubbing as much of the oil onto it as he could, while he kissed him back. Geralt gave him a warning growl before throwing him onto the bed. He landed on his stomach and smoothly pushed himself up to all fours. 

Geralt took a moment to caress the soft skin of his lightly freckled back before draping himself over the smaller man. He pressed his erection into that small, puckered opening and lost whatever was left of his reason. 

Jaskier didn't get a single second to get used to the intrusion before Geralt snapped his hips against his ass and began to pound into him like his life depended on it. The Bard's swollen lips opened in a silent scream as the shock along with the pain and the pleasure briefly overwhelmed him. He lowered his head onto his arms and fisted the sheets with trembling hands. 

"Fuck, Geralt!" When pain eased and the pleasure became greater, Jaskier reached between his thighs to fist his flagging erection. 

Geralt panted into the back of neck and fucked into him two more times before stilling. 

"What, already?" When the Witcher flipped him over onto his back and Jaskier caught sight of his erect penis, he began to truly understand what he had gotten himself into. Geralt slid into him again as he held his legs apart. Now, Jaskier couldn't escape that ardent, golden gaze as his cock tried to fuck its way into his stomach. 

The Bard made a high pitched noise when Geralt accidentally rubbed against a sensitive spot in his body. Once discovered, Geralt was relentless. His hands went to his hips and Jaskier's legs fell apart, then the man proceeded to thrust in that exact angle until Jaskier was yelling his pleasure. A savage bite on his thigh caused him to finally fall apart and the Bard came with Geralt's name on his lips. Vaguely, he felt the Witcher cum again. 

Feeling sated, warm, and happy when Geralt scooped him up into his arms, Jaskier thought he could take a little nap before the next round. However, the insistent press of his lover's cock against his wet, used hole meant that wasn't possible.

The day passed in a blur of fucking. By the end of the first day of Geralt's heat, Jaskier was a mess-- physically and mentally. Jaskier had never had so much sex in his life. Not even in the first and only orgy he'd partaken in. Geralt was ceaseless in his desire of Jaskier, almost as if he wanted to consume the other man. All of the Witcher's intensity and physical prowess was concentrated and directed towards fucking Jaskier, it was overwhelming. 

Geralt was incessant in his desire to see Jaskier cum. Whenever he sensed Jaskier was enjoying a particular position, angle, or stimulation, Geralt pressed until the Bard was sobbing out his release. The last time he came, Geralt swallowed him up to the hilt and kept staring into Jaskier's teary blue eyes as he bobbed his head over his cock. 

"Geralt, I can't," he whispered. He'd already cum more than he thought was normal for a healthy human male. Yet, Geralt somehow managed to coax an erection out of his tired, sore penis.

The Witcher raised himself to stand at the edge of the bed and dragged Jaskier to him by the ankle. He easily spread his thighs and slid inside with a wet squelch that no longer caused Jaskier to flush with embarrassment. Wanting some comfort, Jaskier dragged him down to kiss him softly on the lips. Geralt kept his hips moving as he petted and kissed Jaskier's face, then moved down to his chest. He pulled out of his exhausted lover to flicker his tongue over his nipples and pay homage to his flat abdomen. 

The soft, tender gestures increased the pressure in Jaskier's belly, so he wasn't surprised when Geralt returned to sucking his cock. Despite his previous statements, the Bard came. Geralt pulled his mouth away and fisted his twitching cock but he didn't have anymore cum left to give. Unlike Geralt, who brought his cock right next Jaskier's, and with a quick flick of the wrist, he showered his spent cock with semen. 

"How can you still do that?" Jaskier asked hoarsely. His blue eyes widened. "And you're still hard?!"

At some point, Jaskier passed out to Geralt fucking him, and woke up to Geralt fucking him. 

"Mmm, stop, need a break," Jaskier whimpered and hit Geralt on the chest. The taller man, who looked as awake and energized as the first time they had sex, pulled out, Jaskier could barely feel it at this point, and spent himself on Jaskier's chest. 

Jaskier sleepily rubbed his cum onto his damp skin. He noticed that when he did things like that, Geralt would give him a little respite and cuddle and sniff him from anywhere to a few minutes to almost an hour. It's how he was able to grab a snack and wet a rag to wipe himself down in the middle of the Day 1 cycle. Jaskier pouted when his naughty act didn't led to strong, masculine arms around him. Instead, Geralt went to the tub and grabbed the empty bucket. He pushed the couch out of the way with one arm but hesitated at the doorway and gazed at the fucked out Bard on the bed, wrapped up in their sheets, then left. 

Jaskier shivered and wished Geralt came back quickly as soon as he left his sight. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Sometimes, he and Geralt went years without seeing each other. But right now, the thought of not seeing Geralt in the next minute was unbearable, so he winced and huffed as he swung his legs off the bed and stood up on shaky limbs. A thick, slow trickle of cum ran down his thighs. Jaskier felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He heard footsteps nearing the doorway. Jaskier sat down, winced, then decided to curl up on the bed, his face turned towards Geralt's naked body as he came in carrying firewood and a full bucket of water. 

The Bard's body was littered with bites and bruises, and he had a wicked set of handprints around his hips. Some of the bites had broken skin, so they stung whenever he or Geralt touched them. He absentmindedly kept poking a purpling bite on his side as he watched Geralt rekindled the fire, boiled some water in the metal pot, and refilled the tub. He must have fallen asleep at some point because next thing he knew, the Witcher was cradling his naked body against his broad chest. He gently placed his precious burden into the warm water, and Jaskier moaned at the heavenly sensation of warm, lightly soaped water against his sore muscles. 

"What a great idea, Geralt!" Jaskier said happily. 

Geralt was still having a hard time voicing his thoughts, so he only stared down at Jaskier as the Bard soaked and cleaned off the sweat and cum that clung to his skin. 

"Come in with me, you big lug. You fit," Jaskier scooted up, and Geralt stepped in behind him. He pressed himself against Geralt's warm chest and sighed in relief when his arm went around his waist. 

He almost fell asleep again when Geralt's quiet pants and grunts pulled him out of his peaceful almost-slumber. Geralt was curled into his body but with his clenched fists and tense face, he seemed to be in pain. 

"What's wrong Geralt?" But he could feel what was wrong. It was a prickling sensation underneath the skin, the sense that the chaotic world was becoming too much, and that relief was only a few inches away, but he couldn't touch it yet. The Bard shook those strange thoughts away and moved to straddle Geralt's thighs. He poised himself over the other man's erection using his knees and his hands on the tub's rims. Then, he sank down slowly. Both men groaned when they were unified once more. Jaskier found Geralt's hand and held it as he bounced on the other's thick cock. 

"Mmm, Geralt, I need some help," Jaskier whined when his tired body refused to move fast enough to bring them relief. 

Both of Geralt's hands settled on his hips and with his superior strength, he dragged Jaskier up and down on his cock. Jaskier settled on balancing himself with a hand on Geralt's chest and another fisting his own penis. They didn't care about the water sloshing all around them as they galvanized each other towards completion. 

"Oh fuck, Geralt! I didn't think I had another one in me," the Bard grinned and kissed his Witcher soundly on the mouth. 

"Jaskier, I need you so much," he whispered.

Jaskier hoped this bit of communication meant that the heat was almost over. He managed to eat some food before he had to make his way to the bed again and thought he was ready for the second round. 

He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to kudos and/or review! Feedback appreciated! 
> 
> Thank you much for reading this story!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support, kudos, and reviews for this story! After all the sexy times, it was a little difficult to write this chapter. I'm satisfied with the final result, though, and hope you are, too.

By the end of the second day, Jaskier thought he was going to die from too much sex. There seemed to be no end in sight.

Geralt was constantly hard and in pain if they hadn't fucked in an hour. Jaskier felt like a whinny bitch because he hadn't properly slept in 2 days. He could nap a few hours here and there or pass out on Geralt's cock. The Witcher didn't seem like he needed anything to keep going, he didn't sleep or eat or cease.

Strangely, the sex didn't hurt. He knew that his asshole was probably a gapping mess right now, but Jaskier refused to think about that. Geralt was as attentive as he could possibly be, given the conditions, but it was draining. With every fuck, it seemed like Geralt was taking more and more from Jaskier, but all Jaskier kept getting back was cum and more cum. He was sick of it.

"Geralt, cum inside me! Please cum inside me," Jaskier pleaded. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and he was sweaty and tired but Geralt still gazed at him like he was the most attractive thing on the planet. He was laying on his back, because he couldn't do anything more than moan and lie useless, while Geralt plowed away between his legs.

So, he wasn't completely tired of it. Sometimes, this uncontrollable itch would get in him, and he just wanted Geralt to scratch it with his penis. He hoped it would wear off after the heat.

Finally, on the dawn of the third day, Jaskier woke up to a sleeping Geralt. He sighed in relief and let his sore, exhausted body rest on top of his lover's. Both men slept the whole day. That night, Jaskier woke up first, shivering. He cuddled into Geralt's body, but he provided little warmth. His body temperature went back to his normal cool level. Maybe that's why the Witchers called it a heat?

His stomach rumbled desperately and his throat ached with thirst. "Geralt, I'm hungry," Jaskier shook the heavy body and pouted. He froze in mid-action and took a deep breath. He wasn't a helpless little lad here, he was a grown man who was just fucked within an inch of his life and survived. He could get his own damn food and drink. When Jaskier shifted his lower body, his sore muscles protested so loudly that he felt a roll of nausea in his belly.

He frowned at the lovely, peacefully sleeping face. It was Geralt's fault that he couldn't get up, so he had to face the consequences. He cleared his throat. "Geralt! I'm hungry!" Jaskier screamed in his highest pitch voice. The Witcher's eyes snapped open and he took in his surroundings with his cat-like eyes. "Oh, hello Geralt," the Bard smiled charmingly at his lover. "Be a dear and get some food for me. Right now please."

"Jaskier," he recognized that besotted, hot look in Geralt's gaze. Oh hell no.

"No, I don't want sex ever again! Never ever again," he pushed at Geralt's bulky body with weak fists. "Get me food, water, a hot bath, and a nice massage. And clean sheets."

An hour later, Jaskier was draped over the edge of the tub with Geralt gently rubbing his back from his kneeling position next to it. His belly was full, he had a bottle wine in hand, and his lover had such talented fingers that he could open his own masseuse shop. The innkeeper sent a nice, abet hard to read, letter where she apologized for her daughter's imagination and for neglecting to bring their food out. They got a complimentary day in the cabin and an extra bottle of wine. Life was good.

"Jaskier, tell me the truth. Are you really alright?" He could almost taste the worry and guilt in Geralt's voice.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and took another pull from the bottle of wine before setting it back on the floor. "I feel fine. A little sore and I don't think I'll be using my ass anytime soon, but good. You took good care of me." He turned his head to the side to look at his lover and friend. "How about you? How do you feel?"

Dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "I don't remember a whole lot. All I know is that I felt safe and pleased."

Jaskier turned his face back around to hide his satisfied smile. "Is that normal? The memory loss part?"

"Yes. You don't understand, Jaskier, how scary a Witcher's Heat can be. I didn't really do a good job explaining it. And I've never spent it with someone... someone like you. Fuck, there's so much that could have gone wrong," he took his trembling hands off of Jaskier's back and slammed them onto his strong thighs.

"Geralt, stop." With a wince, Jaskier turned around to completely face Geralt.

"If I had slipped up and moved to quickly or put too much pressure on you, I could have seriously hurt you. More than I already have," he said bitterly, nodding to Jaskier's various bites and bruises.

The Bard had to physically clench the tub's rim to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You explained the situation perfectly, I consented, and here we are. Safe and whole. A little sore, yes, but nothing some rest and more massages can't fix."

But Geralt refused to be happy. He'd never met a more pessimistic person. "No one's ever survived a Witcher's Heat. What if there are consequences?"

"Like what? I'll turn into a dragon or something?" Jaskier laughed but stopped when he realized he was laughing alone. "Geralt, some being such a worrywart! I'm fine, you're fine, we had some crazy and vaguely life-threatening sex. We can move on now and get on with our lives." To celebrate this, Jaskier reach behind to grab the wine bottle and took a deep pull. He handed it to Geralt, who took a few seconds to accept the offer. "Now let's continue with that massage?"

The rest of the short time they had in the cabin was spent quietly and lazily. After his massage, Jaskier and Geralt fell asleep on clean sheets they had found while looking around. The next morning, the pair left with Jaskier sitting sideways on Roach and Geralt steering behind him. They didn't talk about how Jaskier snuggled into his chest or the many times that Geralt pressed his lips against the Bard's hair as he hummed a new tune.

They returned to their usual routines- hunting monsters as they traveled around the various towns and villages and singing in those towns and villages. After their first hunt since Geralt's heat, Jaskier thought they were back to their old friendship, maybe with some occasional benefits. Two weeks after their sex marathon, not even a brief twinge or the shadow of a bruise remained to remind him of his experience.

Yet, Jaskier couldn't sleep by himself. They would get a room with separate beds as usual and the shorter man would find himself tossing and turning in his little bed.

Finally, Geralt would growl, "Bard," and peel back his blanket.

Jaskier would sighed and say, "Fine." Then, he would crawl into Geralt's bed and burrow in his naked arms. He would press his face into Geralt's cool neck and breath deeply- he smelled like a cool night's breeze mixed with something minty and earthy. He'd never noticed this scent on him before. Geralt would enclose him in his thick arms, and his slow heartbeat would lull him to sleep.

Both men would wake up with erections, but they ignored them for the sake of returning to normalcy. They repeated this dance three times before Geralt just began to order one bed, not caring the looks the innkeepers gave them.

They didn't talk about how one night Jaskier woke up to a cold, empty bed. He knew where and with whom Geralt was, and he stared listlessly at the plain, stained wall until he heard the door open and close. He shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Geralt silently undressed and climbed into bed and pressed his back to Jaskier's. He smelled like lilacs and gooseberries.

They didn't talk about how Jaskier suddenly stopped sleeping around with anyone. The Bard attributed this to the ordeal he had gone through during the heat and needing to heal and it was overwhelming and strange. These thoughts ran through his mind as another attractive woman laid a soft hand on his arm after he'd finished singing in the tavern. He shuddered, glad that she wasn't touching his bare skin, but the contract still felt wrong. For the umpteenth time in the two week period since the heat, Jaskier refused female companionship.

That same night, an attractive male with a nice smile briefly touched his ass, and Jaskier wanted to run to the other side of the tavern because the touch felt so _wrong_ to him. He fixed a charming smile on his face and prepared to politely, but firmly, reject his attentions when Geralt suddenly appeared beside him and grabbed the man by the throat.

"Geralt, what the fuck! Let him go!" He pushed Geralt back until the Witcher released him. Everyone in the pub stopped what they were doing and stared at them. Great, they were already wary at having a Witcher in their midst and now this.

"Sorry, I didn't know he was with you," the man stumbled away, holding his throat.

Jaskier smiled at the small crowd. "Just a misunderstanding! Thank you and have a goodnight!" He pushed past some grumbling villagers and dragged his friend outside.

"Geralt, what's gotten in to you? If all those villagers decide to gang up on us, we would be in trouble!"

The Witcher clenched and unclenched his jaw for several seconds, looking back at the poorly lit tavern. "I felt that you were upset by something, then I saw that man standing close to you and I decided to intervene," he finally said into the stillness of the night air.

Jaskier opened his mouth to respond or to ask more questions, but it would break the unspoken rule they had established: do not talk about anything important. So, he closed his mouth, said a meaningless joke about rescuing poor bards, and headed back to their room with only 1 bed.

Besides, he didn't need to ask what Geralt meant because he understood perfectly.

The following morning, they set out on their latest hunt for the village's baker, who had lost his son to a cave troll. Geralt left Jaskier at the entrance of the cave where the cave troll lived. He busied himself by writing down ideas for new songs, which kept going back to a silver haired maiden with a reserved deposition. In the middle of the third, sappy refrain, Jaskier stopped writing and lifted his head. It was quiet all around him, except for the wind whistling past the cave's entrance and rustling the nearby trees. He hadn't heard or seen anything alarming, yet something inside of him screamed that something was wrong.

He threw his papers to the side and lifted the steel sword that Geralt had left with him. It was another change because Geralt usually took both swords on a hunt. He worried about Jaskier not having a means to protect himself. It took him a few tries to lift it properly but when he did, he immediately ran inside the cave.

He quickly found Geralt, despite the twists, turns, and dead-ends in the extensive cave, and gasped in horror when he saw two trolls descend on his prone body.

"Hey, get away from him you ugly, uh, trolls!" He felt a little ridiculous, standing in some dank, stinky cave with a sword that was heavier than he was. He waved it in the air in what he hoped was a threatening manner, and it worked because the trolls turned their backs on Geralt and shuffled towards him. Eww, they had oozing boils on their backs.

Jaskier realized that he didn't have a plan other than taking Geralt's sword. He held it out in front of him and was ready to charge when one of the trolls' head rolled off its shoulders. The other one stared in confusion, then its eyes bulged when a silver sword pierced its chest. It fell with a loud thud, revealing a bruised and bleeding Witcher.

"Geralt!" Jaskier dropped the steel sword and ran to his friend.

"Jaskier, what are you doing here?" He pulled the Bard into a tight hug with one arm.

"I felt that you were in trouble," he whispered.

Geralt pushed him back. "What?" He frowned in confusion.

"Geralt, we need to talk," Jaskier said firmly.

They returned to the village, got their reward, but decided to camp out that night. They received way too many dirty looks on their ride to the baker's home.

That night, Jaskier tended to Geralt's already healing wounds. He was applying an ointment to Geralt's back when the Witcher began to speak. "About a week ago, I saw Yen. You remember when we stopped in that town, the one with all the different colored rocks on the road? It was one of our meeting spots."

"Oh," Jaskier thought it was strange that they made that stop there.

"I didn't do anything with her, I couldn't. I couldn't even get hard," Geralt rolled his tense shoulders and sighed. "All I kept thinking about was of you, asleep on our bed. How much I wanted to sink my cock into you and never leave. And how -" He broke off with a curse.

"And what, Geralt? Finish what you were going say," he commanded.

"And how you smelled like mine, like my home? Like we belonged to each other."

The Bard smiled at the uncharacteristically sweet words. With a light finger, he traced some of the faint scars he could see in the firelight. "To me, you smell like my favorite time of year, a cool, spring night with a gentle breeze," Jaskier whispered. "What happened with Yennefer?"

He scoffed. "I said I was hit with something from the last hunt. She didn't believe me, but left with no hard feelings, I hope."

"Yeah, we don't need to be on her bad side," Jaskier was glad that he pulled a little chuckle from Geralt. He sat beside the man, shoulder to shoulder. "I want to show you something." He pulled out the small switchblade from his pack. He pressed the blade against the pale skin of his inner arm and pressed.

"Jaskier, stop!" Geralt's alarmed voice almost stopped him.

"Calm down, I just want to show you something." When he pulled the blade away from the small cut, he held out his arm towards the fire, and they watched the wound heal itself before their eyes. His small nick now looked like a 2 day old cut. "What's happening to us, Geralt?"

Geralt's response took a few seconds but he said roughly, "I'm taking you to Kaer Morhen, so Vesemir can take a look at you. He's the oldest Witcher alive, he must know something about this."

Jaskier smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "That's going to be a lovely conversation." He cleared his throat and deepened his voice dramatically, "Hello Daddy, here's Jaskier. After I fucked him for 3 days straight, strange things started happening. You think my cum has magic powers?"

Geralt hit him on the shoulder. "First, I don't talk like that. Second, Vesemir isn't my Daddy, he's my mentor, so I don't want to hear that ever again!" He sternly told the giggling Bard. The Witcher's naturally pale cheeks flushed a little and he crossed his arms. "I have to make a stop there anyway, I go every winter."

Hmmm, Jaskier thought about being allowed access to the hidden and forbidden world of the Witchers. He could write so many songs with obscure references and battles and people couldn't doubt it because it'd come straight out of Kaer Morhen. He would be one of a handful of humans who had access to the mountain.

"Sure, let's go meet your dear old man." Jaskier paused and gasped, "Oh fuck, I'm going to meet your old man!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos and/or review this story! Would you like more? Maybe a chapter from Geralt's Point of View?
> 
> Thank you for reading what I have so far!


	4. Geralt's POV, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support you've given this fanfic! I truly appreciate it to see all those kudos and wonderful reviews (constructive criticism still appreciated!). Seeing that people love this story as much as I do makes each day a better one, so thank you again. 
> 
> I hadn't planned on writing more, especially so soon, but your support motivated me to keep going. Here's Geralt's chapter. I hope you enjoy it. This chapter covers events pre-chapter 1 and chapter 1. 
> 
> I also used some Witchers' names in order to add more background. Those are not original characters but belong to the Witcher universe!

It began with an itchy sensation underneath his skin. His clothes bothered him, they felt too tight and heavy on him, even though it the same outfit as yesterday's. Still, Geralt didn't pay any mind to it. He was traveling with the Bard, Jaskier, to an interesting little town with different colored rocks decorating its main street. He rode Roach while Jaskier walked besides him as usual. He was excited to see Yen again, she promised to see him in that town in about a week's time. There was something about her that was fascinating and sexy.

"Geralt, want to hear a new song that I just came up with?" He strummed a tune on an imaginary lute. During their last hunt, Jaskier had to use the lute as a weapon and it met its untimely demise. Geralt looked away, feeling an odd twinge in chest as the sight of the luteless Bard.

"Hmm."

"Great! Here it is, I'm calling it Sweet Night's Kiss."

"This isn't another song about Yennefer and me, right?" He asked in what Jaskier called his "grouchy" voice.

"Not everything is about you, my dear Witcher," Jaskier took a deep breath and began to sing.

Geralt immediately felt some of the tension ebb from his shoulders. He would never tell Jaskier this but his singing calmed and comforted him. It made him feel like the problems of this forsaken world shrunk a little and became a touch more manageable. He let a smile tug on his lips when Jaskier forgot his imaginary lute and stretched his arms wide towards his audience of trees and grass. The shining sun highlighted the golden tones of his hair and with that happy, simple smile on his face, he looked like a siren out of some fairy tale.

The song ended and Geralt raised his hands to perform a sarcastic, slow clap that would surely cause the bard to get huffy and keep singing in spite.

He heard the buzzing of bees, like it was happening in his head, hundreds of bees buzzing and humming, animals running and scurrying, the crunch of grass, the trees too green and bright, laughter a few miles away, the falling of a branch, he felt something crawling on his skin, the sun was burning, he felt...

A hand on his elbow quieted the noise and pain. "Geralt! Are you alright?" Worried blue eyes stared up at him.

Geralt realized that he was tightly clutching Roach's reins. The three of them were stalled in the middle of a forest. "I'm fine," his voice was too loud, so he couldn't help flinching. "Let's keep going." The familiar panic quickened his heartbeat and dampen his palms. Trying to calm down, he slid off Roach and walked beside her, earning another puzzled look from Jaskier.

They traveled for another hour, Jaskier practicing his new song along the way. His voice made it easier for Geralt to focus, more than the additional exercise of walking did. Fuck, he thought he was done with his heats! Every ten years or so, Witchers underwent what they could only call a heat, some type of frenzy that elevated their body temperatures and senses. Geralt would prefer to face an army of ghouls than this wretched aspect of his being.

Fifteen years, he'd been without a heat- the longest he'd ever gone. He thought that he was through with them. Vesemir didn't have heats anymore, Eskel had been going on twenty years without them, but Lambert and Coën still had theirs like clockwork. As he rode his horse with Jaskier's lyrical voice soothing the irritation beneath his skin, he thought about the first time Vesemir warned him about their heats.

_He had been a young, naive Witcher, ready to go out in the world and save humanity from monsters. The night before he left to start the path, Vesemir took him and two other witchers aside._

_"Boys, what I'm going to tell you is something that you should never speak about again. With anyone. This information, in the wrong hands, can get you and the rest of us killed. Understand?" He waited for the wide-eyed youths to nod their heads. Vesemir stared at each of them and said, "Every ten years, a witcher goes through a heat. It's the most vulnerable time in our existence. For two days, our senses are so heightened that even a small speck of dirt can cause you the most agonizing pain. Don't laugh, Clovis, because you won't be laughing when you're trying to scratch your skin off. In the throes of this heat, you can barely think, barely speak! There's no end to it, boys. For two days, you suffer- alone, hopefully, if the humans or mages don't catch you when you're weak- and try to survive."_

_"Why does this happen, Vesemir? Is there anything we could do to prepare?" Geralt had asked, horrified at the idea of losing so much control of himself._

_Vesemir smiled sadly at him. "It's an aberration of our nature, something to do with the mutations," Vesemir waved his hand dismissively. "We have no use for it, we're sterile, but our bodies get tricked into believing that it could make one last effort to procreate." Seeing the confused faces, Vesemir sighed. "The only way to have an passable heat is to share it with someone." Still seeing the frowns, he said bluntly, "Have sex with someone, lots of sex."_

_The boys broke out into grins and laughter. Clovis made a crude joke that had Geralt and the other boy rolling their eyes, but they kept smiling at the thought of having lots of sex with women._

_"Stop!" Vesemir bellowed. "Don't think that it will be easy to find a lady to spread her legs for a Witcher, especially a desperate one. Once you get off this mountain, you'll only find hatred and contempt for us. The chances of finding someone strong enough to survive a witcher's heat, someone who can create a mutual bond of love and trust with you, plus some other requirements that I won't get into, all this equals very, very slim chances. I've never shared one with anyone."_

_Young Geralt stared at Vesemir, his yellow eyes wide open. Clovis scoffed, "What does all that lovey-dovey crap have to do with sex? I can fuck any bitch just fine without all that. Ouch!" The redhead rubbed the spot on his head where Vesemir smacked him._

_"The less we speak of it, the safer you'll be, so I won't talk about our heats again. We don't ever want outsiders knowing about this. When you start feeling overwhelmed by, ah, everything, find somewhere to hide for two days or die. Our heats aren't a romance story, it's torture and certain death if you aren't careful. That's all you need to know."_

_"What if we are in the middle of a hunt?" Geralt asked._

_Vesemir gave him a stern look, "I won't be repeat myself, son."_

Eight years later, Geralt had his first heat in the middle of a hunt. He had felt much like he did now but held onto his lucidity long enough to finish the job. He found a small cave in the middle of nowhere and spent two days in utter hell. Nothing brought relief and he cursed Vesemir, who didn't mention the raging hard-on that made the experience even more unbearable. He couldn't even take himself in hand because the sensation of his own palm against his skin felt like shards of glass. He eventually passed out and was glad to survive the end of it. Clovis and the other boy didn't live long enough to get their heats.

A few decades later, Geralt wanted to share his heat with a prostitute he liked. He was staying in town for a longer job and frequented the local brothel. Francine was a beautiful young woman with bouncy curls and a curvaceous body, and she had given Geralt pleasure many a nights. He especially liked that she didn't stink of fear when he'd asked for her. She seemed to genuinely like him, too.

This time, he knew that his heat was close. He started to keep track of it and found that it usually fell around the same time every decade. He tried to explain the situation to Francine without actually saying much. She laughed and agreed to a sex marathon with a strong, sexy witcher. When his heat descended, he couldn't stand her touch. He remembered staring at her full breasts with nausea and this sense of wrongness. He didn't feel safe or wanted with her, even her cinnamon scent carried a rancid tinge to it. He left without a word and rode his horse hard in one direction until he was alone. He never saw her again.

"Geralt, Geralt! Are you listening to me?" He heard Jaskier ask. Without answering, he headed to a clearing. He stopped the horse and began to unpack.

"The silent treatment, really? And I thought you were the more mature one out of the two of us. What did I do this time, huh? Did I sing too loud? Make too many jokes? Oh, how about when I-" Jaskier casually listed his minor transgressions as he helped Geralt make their camp.

Geralt concentrated on the cadence and sound of the Bard's voice to get him through the next steps until he was kneeling across from him in his customary meditation position. A cheerful fire crackled between them. At some point, Jaskier drifted off to sleep. The Witcher scratched his arms, trying to relieve the itchy burning sensation underneath his skin. He pulled at his long, silver hair and covered his ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise. Fuck, it felt stronger this year. Maybe because he missed one?

He just wanted peace, he wanted to rest, he wanted- what was that scent? He lifted his head and sniffed the air. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes in bliss. Dandelions in a wild field, he inhaled more deeply, with honeysuckles bathed in sunlight. It was coming from Jaskier.

Geralt's eyes snapped open, and he stared at Jaskier's sleeping face. As usual, he was sprawled out on his sleeping bag, half of his leg on the grass. He moved closer to the source of the heavenly scent and breathed. He felt so much better just by smelling him. What would happen if he had a little taste? He just wanted to nuzzle into his neck and gently, he would try to be very gentle, suck and kiss that supple skin. Then, he would bite him a little, just so that others would know that this man was taken, that he belonged to Geralt. Yes, he could do that.

He pulled himself back from Jaskier's neck and dug his nails into the grass to stop himself from pressing his face back there. He knew that he should return to his own side to meditate but couldn't force himself to move. He tried to think of a plan. He could go meet with Yen, maybe with her, he could... The aroma of dandelions and honeysuckles couldn't stop him from gagging.

His body felt an immediate, adverse reaction to the thought of laying with her and covering himself with her scent. He didn't want to, he didn't want to. He took a few more deep breaths. He stayed kneeling, next to Jaskier's sleeping body, until dawn. When the man began to mumble and shift around, he moved back to the other side of the fire. After a quick breakfast, they were back on the road.

Jaskier wasn't a morning person, so he was quieter than yesterday. Geralt didn't mind. He had a lot of things to think about and he felt a little more lucid than last night. He also felt a little warmer than usual, which meant that he had a day before his heat took away his reason. He'd only heard of one witcher who was able to share his heat with another, but it ended badly for Sorel and his chosen lady. He'd heard the story from Lambert, who was the closest thing the Witchers had to a gossipmonger. The girl hadn't been strong enough, she tried to leave in the middle of it, and he raped her for the rest of the heat. She killed herself afterwards.

Geralt clutched his stomach at the thought of hurting Jaskier like that. If those cornflower blue eyes turned to him with hatred and fear, like nearly everyone else he'd met, he thought he would do what Sorel did and let a monster kill him on a hunt.

"Geralt, are you sick?" Jaskier came around Roach to walk beside him.

He shook his head but stared at the bard. Would Jaskier be strong enough? He was too flirty, whinny, loudmouthed, inappropriate at the most awkward times, but he was also loyal, brave, openminded, sincere, happy, and seemed to really care about Geralt. He never tasted the stink of fear on Jaskier and hoped he never would.

Why was he thinking of sharing his heat with Jaskier? Sure, the man was handsome and Geralt had laid with men before, but there were requirements to this. It couldn't be as easy as asking the man to have sex with him, his previous experiences taught him that. Vesemir hinted at something else that the partner had to do before shutting up about the topic for good. When did Jaskier fulfill those mysterious requirements?

All Geralt knew for sure is what his instincts were telling him- Jaskier was safe and smelled divine. The urge to satisfy his cravings was more powerful than the common sense his mind clung to. Perhaps, this one thing in his life could be simple and straightforward?

Jaskier started singing Toss a Coin, his melodious voice solidifying his decision. He was going to approach the Bard about sharing a Witcher's heat.

Decision made, his memory became a little hazy. He couldn't help but touch Jaskier when he started riding Roach. He placed his hand on a sinewy thigh and let it linger. The Bard asked a question in response but he didn't smell frightened or upset, even better, his intoxicating scent grew stronger.

At some point, he sent Jaskier into a small, isolated village he'd been to before. They needed to be somewhere private and if the blue-eyed man refused him, he needed to be alone. With Jaskier gone, his senses began to attack him again. He waited, fists clenched, and got through the next second with the hope that Jaskier's bright smile would come down the worn path.

Then, Jaskier did come back and was in his arms. Geralt blinked but instinctually hugged him back. They were going somewhere, but Geralt concentrated on the feel of Jaskier's hand in his and his scent in his nose.

In the cottage, Geralt recoiled at the foreign, human scents in the room. He didn't want them there, he only wanted Jaskier. When he finished eliminating those foul scents, he approached the Bard, savoring his ripening aroma.

"Did you know that Witchers can go into heat?" Now that they were alone and safe, Geralt felt his penis harden. He was entering the final stage of the heat. In a matter of hours, he would lose his ability to rationalize and even talk coherently.

He tried to explain his heat to Jaskier, but he wasn't sure he did a good job because all he cared about at that moment was getting closer and closer. Finally, he was within touch distance and could rub his face into the Bard's neck. He just needed a little taste. He needed to cover Jaskier with his scent, so that everyone would know he belonged with Geralt.

"You feel warm, soft, and safe. You make it all better. And you smell so good. But I need to put my scent on you, Jaskier, let me do that, alright?" He fondled his taut hips and wished that the other man was naked. He smirked when Jaskier nodded energetically.

Jaskier trembled a little when Geralt sucked on a tempting spot on his neck, and Geralt remembered that he had to be gentle. The sweet honey flavor combined with the salty tang of sweat let him forget his surroundings and he just wanted sink into Jaskier, devour him whole. But he was very gentle when he lightly pressed his canines against Jaskier's skin, even though he wanted to plunge into him, taste his blood, and leave his mark all over his pretty body. He wanted those blue eyes to fill with tears of pain, pleasure, and joy as Geralt gave it all to him, gave everything to him, again and again.

He threw the Bard on the couch, ready to mount him, and his senses told him that Jaskier was ready and aroused, too.

... _blue eyes turned to him with hatred and fear_...

... _strong enough to survive a witcher's heat_

... _killed herself afterwards_...

He practically threw himself against the door, struggling for control. Fuck, he couldn't do this! He couldn't put his one true friend through a dangerous, secretive process that Geralt himself barely understood because no one talked about it. "I've never- Witchers can share their heats with others, Jaskier." He had to get him to understand why he had to leave. And soon. He tried to explain why this was a bad idea and even told Jaskier about Sorel. No fear or apprehension marred the dandelion and honeysuckle scent. It was heightened by acceptance and a twinge of sadness.

Even though every single fiber in his body protested, he flung the door open and ground out, "This was a mistake. I've done this before, by myself, and I survived. I can't risk hurting you. Now go, I can control myself for a few more hours. I won't be able to follow you if you get on Roach and ride hard for an hour." That was unlikely. Geralt would give himself a quarter of an hour before pursuing the Bard. He hoped a monster or a gang of humans descended on him before he found Jaskier.

"No!" The Bard stood up, "I'm not going to leave you hurt and vulnerable in the middle of nowhere when I can help. When I want to help. Please Geralt."

He slammed the door shut and stalked slowly towards Jaskier. He fell onto the couch but still no fear.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispered. "Right now, I'm more animal than man. Especially, when you smell as you do."

"Geralt please." The begging, the wide blue eyes, his mark flashed in a move of submission and acceptance drugged and consumed Geralt's senses. His vision tilted slightly as a surge of want and need overwhelmed him. He stepped between the Bard's open thighs, caged him with his arms and inhaled his essence.

"You smell like you want me to breed you." Geralt could do that. He would fill Jaskier up for however long he wanted. Yes, he was so ready. He could almost taste the musky scent of the other man's arousal.

"Fuck!"

"Last chance, Jaskier, leave now or you're going to be impaled on my cock for the next two days."

Instead of speaking, those tender, pink lips met his in a searing kiss. Geralt plundered his pliant mouth with his tongue, chasing the traces of honeysuckle and sunshine and wanting more. He realized that this was the first time he'd ever kissed the Bard. He broke the kiss and panted into his neck. Jaskier deserved better than rough, dangerous rutting sex with a mutant creature in some rundown cottage.

"Soon, I won't be able to think or speak rationally, Jaskier," Geralt pressed a lingering kiss on those beautiful puffy lips. "Please, tell me that I won't hurt you. I want you so much, you make everything better, but I don't want to hurt you. Don't let me hurt you," he whispered these words as he covered the bard's neck, jaw, and cheeks with careful, delicate kisses. He wished that his first time with his Bard was just like that, but he could feel the need simmering just below the surface of his skin and knew that his wish would never come to pass. He should be used to disappointments by now.

"You're not going to hurt me, I promise."

For both their sakes, Geralt hoped he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please kudos and/or review! This is my motivation to keep writing, I mean it.


	5. Geralt's POV, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end is here!
> 
> I don't know what this fandom has done to me, but this must be the filthiest, most explicit thing I have ever written. I'm quite proud of myself! Take this as your warning! Speaking of warnings, I have updated the tags, so please take a look at that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fanfic and for sending your support my way via kudos, reviews, and/or bookmarks. I hope you enjoy!

He followed the Bard's movements with hungry eyes. He had to restrain himself a little bit more. The light from the fire danced along the Bard's wet, slick skin. He licked his suddenly dry lips when a brown little nipple hardened in the cottage's cool night air. Not even Jaskier dried his chest with a towel did the little nub soften. His mouth flooded with saliva when he thought about tasting such a delicious treat. 

He stepped forward, intent on doing just that, when he heard footsteps outside the cottage. He growled, warning his enemies that he would defend his Bard with every drop of strength and ferocity in his superhuman body. When he saw Jaskier stand up and go to the door, adrenaline flooded his body. He was going with the enemy! He wanted to leave! 

Geralt grabbed him and squeezed the delicate bones of his wrists, gritting out, "Where.Are.You.Going?"

He had his chance to leave, and he stayed. If he fought Geralt, he would have to take what his body had promised. 

The man kept his tone calm and even as he said some words that Geralt didn't fully understand. This was Jaskier, his shrinking voice of reason said. He was loyal. He stayed. He was strong. He released him and watched warily as Jaskier went to the door, got a basket, and came back in. In case his enemies returned to take what was his, Geralt dragged the couch against the door. That should stall them long enough for Geralt to get ready to fight. 

He smelled food from the basket and the faint scent of another, and both turned his stomach. But he wanted Jaskier to eat, he wanted him to be strong and healthy. The Bard nodded to the tub and Geralt understood that he had to clean himself. Geralt stood in front of the tub for a few seconds before he remembered how to undress. He fumbled with the buttons and pants, but finally he was naked and wet. He washed himself quickly, hoping Jaskier would be pleased. 

He stood up, stepped out of the tub, not caring to dry himself, and approached the Bard. The heavenly scent of dandelions and honeysuckles intensified when Jaskier got a good look at his naked body. Geralt smirked. Good, he was pleased. 

He grabbed the man by the hair and licked into his mouth, sampling his intoxicating taste of honey and wine. The shorter man fumbled with something behind him, then oily hands were stroking his erect staff as Geralt's hands went down to squeeze firm buttocks. 

He threw the smaller body onto the bed and watched approvingly as he automatically got on his hands and knees. For so many years, this man had been begging for this, he realized that now. He caressed the soft skin of his back as he positioned himself behind him. For so many years, this man strived to prove that he was strong and loyal enough for this. He'll give his partner what he craved. 

As soon as he sheathed his cock in that tight, slick ass, the Witcher lost whatever bit of reason he had. 

He pounded into the hot hole with reckless abandon, headless of the cries of the body underneath his. He gripped those enticing hips between his large, powerful hands and rammed his cock, again and again, between pert cheeks. The wet sounds of skin slapping skin echoed in the small room as the Witcher grunted his release.

He pulled his cock out of its new home and flipped the man over onto his back. With a growl, the Witcher parted his thighs with rough movements. Blue eyes widened in surprise before the Witcher thrust his cock back into his loosened entrance. From this position, he could see the mix of pain and pleasure on the other's face. He heard a high pitched gasped and smelled a spike in the man's scent when Geralt fucked him in a certain angle. 

Suddenly desperate to taste his cum, the Witcher buried himself balls deep, as far as physically possible, and moved with inhuman speed. He growled and batted the other's hands away when he tried to take himself in hand. The Witcher could sense that the other man was close, he could almost taste the sweetness in the back of his throat. 

Trying to stave off his own release, he bent his head and bit the fleshy, soft skin of the inner thigh and felt gratified to hear and smell the other cum. He pulled out, erection still hard and shiny, and eagerly kneeled on the floor with his face between the sweaty, shaking thighs. He ran his tongue over the glistening mess on the man's flat abdomen and moaned at delicious flavors of his natural essence mixed with a salty undertone.

"Fuck, Geralt! That's so hot!" He felt a hand comb through his wet, silver hair. 

He licked his way down his abdomen and laved his tongue over the sensitive head of his cock, and the man whimpered and tried to move away but the Witcher held him down with one arm over his hip. He went even further south and sucked hard at the reddened, puckered entrance, causing the man to sit up and shout. He spent some time there before he pulled away and stood up. He pressed his hard, aching cock against the man's hole and watched it gratefully accept his meaty offering. 

He only had to thrust a handful of times before cumming hard.

He pulled the man into his arms with one hand and the other man nuzzled into his chest. With his free hand, he parted his cheeks and shoved his cock into him again. The man groaned, "Geralt, you're an animal, fuck."

Keeping his hips moving, the Witcher breathed in the other's scent at the base of his neck.

He didn't smell aroused yet, it was too soon. He still seemed content and accepting. He tightened his grip around the man in his arms and came while his face remained pressed against his neck. 

He kept his erect penis safely tucked inside its haven, while he explored the other's body. He caressed and pinched the soft little nipples and let his finger trace the area around the bellybutton. The man's stomach contracted, accidentally making his ass tighten around the Witcher's cock. He bit him on the shoulder and gave him a swallow thrust in warning. 

"I'm ticklish there," he explained breathlessly. 

Continuing on, he fisted the man's limp cock in his calloused hand. He growled when the man pulled at his arm. It was quickly removed. 

"Too soon, Geralt," he whimpered. 

He knew that the other man could soon come again with the right incentives. With an inhuman snarl, he pushed the man onto his stomach and fucked into him hard, in that magical angle that made him cum before. He held him up by the hips since the man lost the strength to do so himself.

He detected an rise in arousal and smirked in triumph. 

"Geralt, I can't come again! I can't!"

The Witcher pulled him up, so that they were both on their knees, fucking in the middle of the bed. He held him up, keeping an arm across his chest, and pulled and pinched at the closest nipple, while his mouth bit and sucked on the man's neck. 

"Ahh, Geralt, that's, ah, so good!" The man ran his hands down the Witcher's steely thighs. "Fuck, you're so strong."

He couldn't hold back on the driving need that blazed through his veins. He wrapped both his arms around the smaller man and pressed his cock as deep inside of him as it could possibly go when he came. Still erect and unsatisfied, still craving a deeper sense of fulfillment and connection, he began to pound into him once more. The sound of skin slapping against skin became wetter, louder as his cum dripped from the man's leaking hole and down his spread thighs. 

The Witcher's palm found the man's half erect cock, and he jerked it firmly. A hand interrupted his movements, but he quickly moved the hand across the man's chest to around his neck. He squeezed until the man stopped trying to resist him. Still on his knees behind the smaller man, the Witcher continued jerking the thickening erection in his hand, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as the man began to pant and groan.

"Geralt! What are you doing to me?" The man asked in amazement as his cock reached full mast. 

He kissed the man's neck, sorry for his rough actions from early, and went back to caressing his nipples. He kissed his way down to the man's shoulders and sucked hard on a particular spot that had the other man gasping and withering in his grip, all the while his thrusts didn't falter.

"Ah, gods, I think I'm cumming again!"

Geralt bit down hard on the man's shoulder and jabbed his hips even harder into the man until he smelled the other's release. He held him as the man trembled and twisted in his arms, on his cock. As before, he pulled out to sample his prize. The man almost lost his balance but he held onto his broad shoulders to steady himself.

"I've never cum so hard in my life," he panted. 

He didn't linger over his cock, sensing that another erection needed more time. He manhandled the smaller man until he was on his back with his legs wrapped around the Witcher's waist. The man reached down to intertwine their hands and that pleased him. He came one more time, but his cock was still hard and the need was burning hotter than ever underneath his skin. He whimpered, pressing his face against a warm, damp chest. 

"What's wrong, love?" Gentle fingers smoothed the hair from his face.

He rubbed his erection against the man's abdomen, it left behind a slick trial of lube and fluids. 

"Maybe you need a break, huh?" The man hooked his leg over the Witcher and twisted them in a surprisingly fluid motion. 

Luminous blue eyes stared down at him. "Maybe something a little different will help." He lifted a warm hand to stroke his penis slowly. "Wow, you're so big, Geralt. My asshole might never be the same," he chuckled lowly.

The Witcher liked the noises the man made, he suddenly remembered that he was singer. In his head, he called him a siren. He propped himself up on his elbow and ran a hand down the man's throat, over the bump of his adam's apple. He wanted the man to sing to him. The man pulled away and before the Witcher could protest, his siren wrapped plush lips around the head of his cock. He watched as he took in about half of his cock before pulling back, looking confused. 

"I thought this would be easier! Um, I've actually never done this before, you know." He swirled his agile tongue over the tip. "Not a bad taste, hmm." He tried to swallow more of his cock but ended up choking a little. 

His siren's antics distracted him a little from his scorching desires, but the tension was returning. He sat up a little and grabbed the man's head between his two hands. He guided him to his cock and those swollen lips opened for his erection. He held the man's head as his hips made shallow thrusts into the warm, wet cavern. Saliva dripped down the man's chin as he kept his mouth open for the Witcher to use. Hands reached down to fondle his balls, and that was all he needed to cum between the other's lips. 

His siren pulled away and coughed, letting his cum drip down his chin. "I wasn't ready for that," he whispered and kept coughing. He licked his lips. "Doesn't taste bad at all." He wiped the cum off his chin with his thumb, then stuck the digit in his mouth. 

He took his siren into his arms and just scented him. He breathed his unique aroma that reminded him of a wild, peaceful field bathed in sunlight and covered with dandelions and honey. His own scent, stronger with a minty undertone, was starting to mix with his to create something new between them. It still wasn’t enough, the need was still blazing, but he was content in the moment to hold his sweet siren.

At some point, he let the man get up and refresh himself and grab a snack before the need came roaring back. 

The rest of his heat passed in a similar fashion. His siren did many things that pleased him- from easily accepting his erection into his body again and again to seeking warmth and comfort with his touch and letting himself fall apart underneath his hands.

After he had taken care of him with a bath, he remembered his siren’s name, Jaskier. He felt like he was losing precious time, so he rigorously gave himself to the pressing need to fuck Jaskier and take everything his body had to offer. His siren trembled in his arms from the delightful mix of pain and pleasure that the Witcher bestowed onto him. He accepted it all with so beautifully, and the Witcher was proud and impressed with the choice he had made. 

“Geralt, I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Jaskier sobbed. His face was red and blotchy, his hair sticking all over the place, and his body was covered in sweat and cum, but he had never looked more amazing to him.

He kissed the tears away from his cheeks, savoring the salty flavor of exhaustion and pain. His siren suffered so much for him, and he would be rewarded soon. He was so strong and accepting, lovely and fierce, loyal and brave. He would make an excellent mate.

“Geralt!” His siren yelled out as he came one final time on his cock. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he passed out. 

The Witcher could feel that his own final release was near. It was done, he’d finished, and the fire that had incensed his body for over 2 days was extinguished. 

“Jaskier!” He called out and came one final time inside of his siren. He had the presence of mind of fall besides Jaskier before blacking out.

-

There were some things that Geralt and Jaskier didn’t talk about since they shared the heat 2 weeks ago.

Geralt didn’t tell Jaskier that he could sense the Bard. He most certainly didn’t tell him that this was a great comfort to the Witcher because he didn’t want to let Jaskier out of his sights. While on a hunt, Geralt could feel Jaskier’s presence either in town or in a safe area nearby. If he concentrated on that connection, he could even tell what Jaskier was feeling. It was more vivid if the Bard was physically close to him. He tried to push the connection to the side and not think about it too much.

After they decided to head to Kaer Morhen to see Vesemir, Geralt and Jaskier went to sleep early to prepare for the long journey ahead. It wouldn’t be easy to travel to Kaler Morhen, especially with a human. 

“Geralt, trouble sleeping?” Jaskier asked from his place behind Geralt. They laid their sleeping bags, side by side, and pressed their backs together. “I can sense it, you know. It’s kind of weird, feels like something tugging in my head. I thought I was dying or something, but it’s you. I guess that’s alright, then.” The bard chuckled awkwardly. 

“Jaskier, sing for me,” Geralt requested. He kept his golden eyes on the crackling fire. He was facing it, while Jaskier was lying between his back and the side of a huge tree. If enemies came, it would be easier for them to get to Geralt first.

“Wow, you’ve never asked me that before. What would you like to hear?”

“Anything, please,” he said tonelessly. 

“Ok,” Jaskier took a deep breath and began to sing a slow, haunting melody about lost love. 

Geralt closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. There were a few things he didn’t tell Jaskier. He missed his singing. The Bard still sung in taverns and for crowds, but he didn’t give special performances or sneak previews for Geralt anymore. Instead, an air of awkwardness and unease created by things that remained unspoken settled between them. 

He didn’t tell the Bard that he was still a siren in this thoughts and didn't want that to slip out at the most inopportune moment. Sometimes, another word slipped into his mind when he pictured Jaskier, but he buried that word so deeply that he rarely thought about it.

He also didn’t tell the Bard that he was afraid of going to Kaer Morhen. He was afraid to hear what Vesemir would say. When Lambert had told Geralt what happened to Sorel, he also mentioned something so strange that Geralt dismissed it. Before he’d left for his fatal hunt, Sorel complained about headaches and feeling a presence in his head. He constantly felt like someone was watching him, and at one point, he collapsed while running training drills. It was strange because from what Geralt remembered about his former trainer, he was always so calm and steadfast. 

But now...

During his heat, he felt that he created something new between the two of them. Something unbreakable and permanent. At the moment, it left him feeling satisfied and complete but now, he could only feel horror.

He didn’t tell the Bard that his little trick with the knife scared him more than any monster he’d faced.

What had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end... for now!
> 
> Please check out the second story in this series, Witcher's Bond.
> 
> Please review and/or send kudos because it makes my day!


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